


Truth & Reciprocity

by Baileys



Category: White Collar
Genre: Adventure, Family Feels, Friendship, Gen, Mystery, Neal's alive, Post-Season/Series 06, Suspense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-04-29 14:47:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14474985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baileys/pseuds/Baileys
Summary: "Neal's commitment to be a good person was as flaky as one of Mozzie's conspiracy theories." Post season 6 adventure. Neal's alive and Peter is set on bringing back home where he belongs. Spoilers for all seasons. Friendship & Family themes. Not slash.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> In an interview about the ending of white Collar Tim DeKay said he knew *exactly* what Peter was going to do after the end of the final episode. I still wish to see it on our screens, but for now this is my spin on that wonderful bit of insight :)

_Neal's commitment to be a good person was as flaky as one of Mozzie's conspiracy theories._

That's how he started his eulogy speech, delivered to the intimate group of friends gathered to say goodbye to their dear friend earlier in the afternoon. Despite the good-natured jibe, he wasn't joking. To be fair, Peter didn't doubt each and every time Neal had promised to go straight that he meant it. _At the time_. But then something would always happen, someone would need help and eventually those someone's would find their way to Neal. The kid was the best after all, even Kramer had thought so, hence the want to steal Neal for himself. What made Neal vulnerable was the kid was an incurable romantic and would fall hook, line and sinker for any sob story that needed a happy ending.

"Neal could always come up with a plan." Mozzie drunkenly tipped his empty glass at Peter, daring him to deny it.

The sun had set, and after having packed up what they could, covered what was left, they'd settled in the now bare Riverside Drive apartment for the long haul, neither one wanting to leave or remember the past few days with any kind of clarity. Spending his evening purging the remains of Caffrey's wine collection with the little guy was not something he planned on, but after signing the paperwork officially ending Neal's obligation to the FBI, Mozzie had made a very reasonable argument that what better way to celebrate their friend's posthumous freedom than to polish off his overpriced alcohol.

"It was never the plan I had a problem with." Peter slurred, eyeing his own empty glass in disgust.

Neal conning himself into believing his bad actions were justified if his motivations were good, was the real problem, Peter explained to a thoroughly unimpressed Mozzie. In executing a con, despite all best intentions, people inevitably got hurt. Maybe not physically, but tricking people into trusting you leaves scars all the same. Peter had wanted to change that part of Neal, give the kid a way to use his skills and get that high without the messy aftermath. But like an often-chastised child Neal repeated the same mistakes again and again, unable to resist the lure of the game he and some of those closest to him considered their daily lives.

It's all his fault, Peter knows this. "I should've just grounded him." He growled to himself. He threatened chastisement again and again, but never followed through. "I should've just  _done it_."

Mozzie paused in his opening of a fresh bottle of Merlot and stared across the table. Head cocked to the side like Satchmo, round eyes piercing through thick black frames like he was puzzling out how to get him to admit to the aliens kept in area 51.

Too used to Mozzie's unnerving observational habits Peter stared back. His own eyes narrowing, he proceeded to explain - in detail - his theory on how Neal would be alive right now if only he'd taken a firmer hand, reined in that impulsive behaviour which so often got him into more trouble than he could handle. To his credit Mozzie didn't argue, but countered with a confession of his own culpability, admitting he could have done a better job of protecting his friend from his own idiocy.

Of course, they were coming at this from two different sides, but the basis of the argument remained the same. Peter knows he's used Neal's brilliant skills of thievery much the same way as those he would condemn for such an action. The difference being, as he justified to Diana once, was when he did it, it was FBI sanctioned. However, according to his incredibly smart and insightful wife, those two magic words fell into the same category as Neal's misguided justification's and she wouldn't accept excuses from either of them. Her belief being that they both wanted their own way and would do whatever it took to get it, aka they were both stubborn idiots.

"How about we agree we're both soft in the head where Neal's concerned and leave it at that?" Peter's smile was easy and as light as candy floss, the alcohol doing what alcohol does and taking all the pain away.

Not satisfied with the Merlot, declaring it too heavy for the occasion, Mozzie left the table switching it for a Riesling and returned waxing lyrical about some of Neal's more ludicrous alleged crimes, making him sound like a very mad, but very proud parent. Peter weighed in with his view of the ones he was aware of and the age-old argument over what constituted right and wrong continued. The two of them did manage to agree on one thing in their drunkenness though. Neal never learned, was always seeing how far he could get over the proverbial line, consequences be damned.

"You know, keeping you in his life was the one thing Neal never listened to me about." Peter tensed and Mozzie must have seen because he was quick to assure this tale had a happy ending. "It wasn't personal suit. You're the suit. Talking to feds is not what we do."

"Neal liked to do more than talk." Peter giggled evilly, refilling his glass to the brim.

"Yeah, and look where that got him. Four years lost with an added four on a leash which could choke him at any time."

"Hey! He did the anklet all on his own." Peter set the bottle down, took a long sip, savoring the warm yet fruity smell that was just so  _Neal._  "You knew about the phone calls?"

"Calls, gifts, birthday cards" Mozzie raised his eyes from his glass and looked Peter in the eye. "Before you sent him to prison, didn't you ever question why he kept returning to New York, why he didn't just  _go?"_

 _Disappear._ Peter knew what Mozzie really meant. And yeah, he did.

"Neal had… issues." Mozzie stumbled, changing his words at the last second. "I knew he'd get attached. Why I never wanted him talking to you in the first place." Mozzie's response was a good-natured grumble. "The anklet was just another desperate scheme that seemed good at the time."

"He was a lost kid who wanted to feel safe." Peter echoed, recalling a conversation from too long ago. "Structure and clear boundaries did that for him."

In the height of his sulking, as El called the low period between him deciding not to turn Neal in for the coin robbery and getting the call that paved his bright new future in Washington, Peter often found himself wandering the streets of Brooklyn at odd times of night. Whenever he was unable to sleep or quiet his brain he left the confines of his comfortable home, walking block after block, testing his own self-imposed radius trying to feel something other than cold and bitter disappointment. It ran through his veins, beat within his chest and infected his brain. He couldn't escape or find release and Peter wondered one cold lonely night when the air was especially heavy with the stench of self-recrimination if this was how Neal felt every day of his ankleted life. Trapped in a fugue state, unable to balance the person he is with the one he was being forced to be. The idea that Neal wasn't being true to himself unless he was thieving or lying sent a chill through to his bones, making them feel brittle and chalk like, liable to snap at any moment.

Peter usually only made it as far as the park before having to rest. Sitting on the bench in the dead of night, only a handful of like-minded New Yorkers for company, he often found himself contemplating the being that was Neal Caffrey. He flashed back on some of their memorable moments together; arresting the Dutchman, Neal's eyes lighting up when Peter called him partner for the first time, Neal pushing passed Jones and hugging him so damn tight after being kidnapped by Keller, Peter doing the same after finding Neal in Cape Verde. It was all so bittersweet, and sitting there, with nothing but the moon and sounds of the city for company, his final thought before heading back was a wish to erase the previous months and have a do over. Of course, that would have meant Neal never reconnecting with his father, that door being permanently left a jar, a little of Neal still incomplete. Peter thinks he could have lived with that.

The one night he came home in an even less than happy mood than usual and told Elizabeth about Neal wanting to ' _fix things_ ' between them, El had done what she always did and dug until she got the full story. That being Peter had shut down any ' _fixing it'_  talk and point blank to his face, told Neal he was a nothing more than a criminal and always would be. Now he would freely admit the second the words were out his mouth he wished he could take them back, the look of devastation on the kid's face as he slipped from his office making him feel ten times the monster he'd accused Neal of being. But nothing he felt at the time compared to how he felt faced with the immense disappointment of his wife. Peter can honestly say he's never experienced the full wrath of El until that moment. They've had their ups and downs, but very few serious fights, so when she'd stared at him silently for well over a minute, it initially didn't register with Peter that she was holding back from verbally ripping him to shreds. In the end, after a refilled wine glass and plenty of chest pokes, it was very concisely pointed out to him in the sternest of tones that the sun didn't shine out of the FBI's ass and Peter needed to give some thought to who really mattered; his family, or his job?

Now Peter wasn't going to argue that three years in, and lord knows how many fights, heists and near misses later, Neal was most definitely their family. However, that didn't excuse his illegal behaviour, and he told Elizabeth such. Something which in the history of stupid things to say in a fight with his wife, was one of the stupidest. Elizabeth did let loose on him then. Airing every grievance she'd ever held about the FBI, twice over. Peter felt - quite rightly - like a massive prick. He may have been the one behind bars, but he wasn't the only one they put in prison after James killed Pratt. El and Neal were in their own prisons. The corrupt sect of the FBI had ripped his family apart and, according to El, Peter was still defending them. He wanted to point out that he was defending the good guys not the crooked ones, but by this point he'd learnt to keep his mouth shut and take the hits. Elizabeth had  _asked_ Neal to do whatever he could to get Peter out of jail. As far as she was concerned Neal had come through. End of story.

Peter feels he should just be grateful Neal didn't attempt a prison break and have him on the run, but the agent side of him still couldn't get passed the idea he was freed through a criminal act. Elizabeth couldn't get passed the idea he would chose to risk everything when the cards were so insurmountably stacked against him, and Neal couldn't get over the idea that Peter just wouldn't forgive him already. It had been a mess, and Peter had let his anger get the better of him. Shaken that stability Neal so relied on and sent him on a path which ultimately lead to his death.

"You and Neal, I was jealous." Mozzie announced sudden and solemn, his smile more of a flat line stretching his round face.

" _Why?_ " Peter shook his head, vision blurring, mind unable to keep up with Mozzie's train of thought while his own culpability was under serious review.

He didn't think Mozzie would answer, but then he did and damn it, near broke Peter's heart all over again. There was so much he didn't know. So much going on behind the scenes of his and Neal's friendship he never saw.

"He always had this thing about not lying to you, and  _only you._ " Mozzie lost his not quite smile altogether, words slurring with a hint of bitterness. "After you snapped the anklet on him it was like he dared not breathe without your approval."

"Now, I know that's not true." Peter pointed one wobbly finger at the lowered bald head.

Letting a strained giggle escape his turned down lips Mozzie stood from the table. "One thing I do know is true. He loved you suit." Their eyes met for the briefest of seconds, nothing but raw emotion and incurable regret shining in both. "He loved you more than anything."

Peter didn't know what to say to that. Havisham quickly disappeared out onto the balcony, leaving Peter to blink away the moisture gathering in his eyes. Pulling himself together, internally blaming the alcohol for his blurring vision he followed.

"I loved him too." Peter said quietly, joining Mozzie at his side, taking a good long look at the magnificent view before burying his nose in his glass to disguise the tears he was still trying desperately to choke back.

They stand together in silence, staring out at the city, its lights seeming just a little dimmer now somehow.

"It's been real suit." Mozzie placed his empty glass on the empty side table and slipped out without another word, leaving Peter to take in the view alone, one final time.

 

2.

" _He loved you suit."_

Peter hears the words, echoing in his head like they were spoken just yesterday, not a year ago. Maybe it was the combined circumstances of seeing Mozzie for the first time in over 6 six months and it being the first anniversary of his friends untimely passing. Maybe he was just hearing things. Wouldn't be the first time.

_He loved you._

Peter told Neal he loved him once. A moment of poignant whimsy hidden in a humorous aside to try and bridge the chasm stretched between them. A chasm Peter had created out of concern and possibly a little jealous. Neal hadn't noticed, was too busy being mad at him about the man formally known as 'Sam'. Peter wondered if it registered later, after the dust settled and Sam turned into James and James turned out to be exactly what he and Mozzie suspected him to be. Not that he was in the habit of agreeing with the little guy, or of telling other guys he loved them for that matter, but Neal was special that way. As the evidence inside the storage container he was staring at contested to.

Looking at the well documented plans, displayed like a work of art down to the last detail, stirred up a lot of emotions Peter thought he'd put to bed, but unlike those cold nights wandering the streets looking for direction, or his and Mozzie's drunken farewell to Neal and his wine collection, he had no doubts about what he was doing next, what he was going to do the second he left this tomb. Because no matter how often Neal pissed people off, stole under the FBI's nose or concealed his true motivations from those he claimed to trust, Peter Burke loved Neal Caffrey. He was his best friend, they were family and he was going to make damn sure he had the chance to tell him that.


	2. Chapter 2

 

Peter burst through his front door with an energy he’d not possessed in over a year.

“Elizabeth!”

El appeared at the top of the stairs, carrying baby Neal with her, as blue eyed and mischievous as his name sake.

“I’m going to France!”

“Hon?”  Ever accustomed to her husband’s flights of fancy, even this was farfetched for him.  “What’s happened?”

“Neal happened.”  He grins stupidly at her, tearing the house apart, opening cupboards, rifling through draws.  “Have you seen my flight bag?  The black one?”

“Whoa, slow down.”  Elizabeth was determined she would get a straight answer.  “Neal?”

Peter blinks at her like she’s being intentionally slow. “Not this Neal,” Peter kisses his son’s head who is happily watching his daddy make a massive mess in their living room.  “Our other Neal!”

As if that explained anything.  “I’m not confused about which Neal.”  She’d seen Peter Burke on the chase often enough over the years to know when he was excited about something.  “But hon, Neal’s-”

She couldn’t bring herself to say it, not without tears forming.  Even after a year it hurt.  Hurt to think of the young man she cared for, loved like a good step-mom should.  Age didn’t matter, only the roles they played, and when Peter came home, when he had to tell her what happened… despite knowing her baby was safe and growing inside of her El felt like she’d lost something incredibly precious that day.  Something they could never replace.

“He’s alive.”  Peter stood in front of her, pocketing his passport with his FBI credentials before pulling them both into a hug.

El had to sit down.  Neal was squirming in her arms and she passed him quickly to Peter who eventually realized he could have broken that news much more delicately.

“Alive?”  She couldn’t breathe, “Peter if this is-”

“It’s not like last time, I promise.  I’m sorry I didn’t mean to scare you it’s just I-” Peter stops and sits down next to his wife, letting Neal crawl across the floor over to Satchmo who’s watching the couple with intrigue. 

“But how?”  Elle was still trying to wrap her head around it. 

“The wine.”

“What wine?”

Peter proceeded to fill El in on the number on the cork, which lead back to the storage crate Jones had tracked Neal to before the Pink Panther heist. 

“I don’t believe it.”  Elle’s shock morphs into anger.  “That little bastard – why?  Why would he do this to us?”

Peter briefly flounders, he’d of course asked himself that very question again and again on his journey home, but was too happy knowing Neal was out there, that he had left clues to help Peter find him again that he didn’t care about motive.  But staring in his wife’s bright and hurt eyes, could see El really needed one.

“I don’t know.”  Peter bites the inside of his cheek.

“ _Peter?_ ”

It was a warning and he knew it.

“I have some thoughts, but until I check them out it’s impossible to say for sure.”  Peter grabs El’s hands in his.  “Only way to find out is to ask him, right?”

They stare at each other, long and hard.  “Okay let’s do it.”  She’s up and heading towards the closet before he can stop her.

“We?  No hon.”

“Peter, you are not going half way around the world on a chase and leaving us behind!”

He gets up after her, “hon, listen.  I don’t know if it’s safe.”

“Why wouldn’t it be safe?”

Peter paused, deciding what he should share and what he needed to keep to himself for now.  In the end he decided, as usual, to tell her everything. 

“The people Neal doubled crossed on our last case together, they were very bad guys and they all went to jail.”

“So?”  She pushed.  Eyes narrowing demanding Peter treat her like someone with a modicum of intelligence.

“I put a call in on my way home tonight.  The leader of the Pink Panthers, he died in jail recently.  I don’t know the details but-”

“But then someone sends you the wine and you don’t know if it’s related…”  She nods, having spent enough time hearing about his cases, there was no way she hadn’t picked up some skills.

“I don’t 100% know who sent the wine.  But what I do know is that Neal’s alive, or at least someone wants me to think he is.  Either way I need to find out the truth.”  Peter hugs her.  “He might need my help and I can’t concentrate if you and baby Neal are in harm’s way.”

Elizabeth looks at _baby_ Neal playing quietly with his edible crayons in the corner.  Much how she imagines grown up Neal would have done at the same age, before his birth family was torn apart leaving him alone, at the mercy of his own childish wants and impulses.

“Okay,” she concedes, “we’ll stay, but I want updates, don’t you dare leave me in the dark on this.”

Peter kisses her and immediately goes back to his frantic packing.  “I’m booked on the next flight out of Kennedy, Jones is going to run the office while I’m gone and there’ll be agents watching the house just in case.”  He sees her about to protest and cuts her off.  “Just a precaution, makes me feel better.”

It takes Peter another ten or so minutes to put his things together and before she knows it El is standing by the door, baby in arms ready to wave goodbye.  She feels nervous, like every day he leaves for the office, only more so because despite doing field work still Peter had kept to his word and been a consistent presence in their life’s.  This would be the exception.  But if Neal was alive and it brought him back to them, then it was worth it.

Peter lent in to kiss her goodbye and Elizabeth pulled him in, refusing to let go until she was ready.  Finally allowing him to depart he was halfway down the steps when she called out.

“Peter!”

He turned, cab door open, one foot still on the sidewalk.

“Bring him home…”

 

 

He entered the airport and made it through check in and boarding in record time, the seats available were limited but he’d taken what they had.  Caffrey was going to owe him big time for this.  Peter swore right then and there he’d keep his promise to El.  He’d find Neal like he always did and drag his soon to be sore butt back home, kicking and screaming if necessary.

“This seat taken?”

Peter blinked, thought he was imagining things again.  “Diana?”

“Hey boss.”  She slid effortlessly into the seat next to his.  “Thought you could use some company.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be in Washington?”  He smiled.

“Well Theo is already with my parents and the bureau has given me a few days to get things sorted.”

“And by get things sorted you decided to include chasing a presumed dead C.I and convicted forger halfway around the world with your ex-boss, on a hunch?”

“I liked Caffrey,” her smile is easy, but Peter can see the tension in her eyes, “and I know how you feel about him.  If there’s a chance he’s alive and knowing him, in trouble, I want to help.”

“Thanks.”

“I also want to ring his neck for putting you and the rest of us through hell this past year.”

“Oh, I have the lecture all ready, believe me.”

The engines kick in, a stewardess dressed in red and navy walks the aisle signaling everyone to take notice of the lit seat belt sign.

“You got a theory boss?”

“Woodrow.”  Peter spits the name.  Diana listens.  “The timing.  I can’t help but think it’s connected.”

“Yeah.  Me too.”

 

 

Arriving in France the pair are beyond jet lagged, being ill-prepared for the journey.  It took an even bigger toll as neither had slept much in what was amounting to near 48 hours by the time they reached the hotel.

“Diana what is this place?”  Peter’s gaze is taking in the gaudy lobby, covered in gold, with wall to wall art work that Caffrey would have salivated over.

The woman, who despite the long journey still looked immaculate, dared to turn and smile.  “I pulled some strings with my mother’s contacts in the consulate. Don’t worry I didn’t say anything about Caffrey.”  She added off his warning look. 

“It’s just we don’t know anything really.”  Peter lowered his voice, warily looking around for ease droppers.  “Not officially.”

“Peter, I know.  Don’t worry.”  She overtakes him, self-assured confidence coming off her in waves.

“What?”  he chases after her through the lobby.

Diana rolls her eyes, a smile at the familiar awkwardness on his face.  “You named your baby after him.  You and Neal,” she stops and turns to face him, eyes serious, “I’d do anything for Theo, so trust that I know what this means to you.”

“I only ever wanted to protect him.”  Peter shyly looks away.  “For a whole year I thought I’d failed in the worst possible way.”

Aware nothing she could say or do right now would take that feeling of failure away, Diana focused on what she could do for him.

 “I’ll get our room keys.”

 

 

Peter was walking the streets of Paris in a daze.  He’d never been anywhere in Europe.   In fact, the bulk of his knowledge came from reading reports on Neal’s exploits at the height of his criminal career.  He’d already passed three alleged crime scenes. It was a wonder how Neal never settled here for long, but then Kate wasn’t with him in Europe.  Hence, she was never involved in any of his investigations until towards the end when they’d realized Neal was looking for the girl.  The girl they’d had the location of the entire time. 

He was just coming to the end of the street when his phone rang, but the second he put it to his ear it rang out.  Looking at the handset in confusion, thinking El was returning his call, it didn’t take Peter long to notice the local area code of the dropped call.  Peter looked around.  It was early morning.  Diana and he had slept most of the day yesterday, catching up on sleep.  He woke about 3am this morning and as soon as he thought it sociably acceptable he came out for a walk.  Hence, he was wandering Paris at 7am, looking for a young man Peter knew could be just about anywhere.  Taking his chances Peter called the number back.  It was picked up after the first ring.

“What walks on all fours in the morning, two legs in the afternoon and three in the evening?”

Before Peter could ask anything in return the call was cut and he was left with only silence.


	3. Chapter 3

Peter and Diana entered the Louvre a little after opening.  After the call he’d made his way quickly back to their hotel, with swift and efficient use of the hotels wi-fi they found the source of the quote.  From there it took mere seconds to connect the dots, and so they found themselves searching the paintings on the 1st floor looking for Jean-Auguste-Dominique Ingres depiction of Oedipus and the Sphinx.

Looking around, the area was sparse; an average Thursday in Paris. Peter could only presume most tourists on entering were headed for the Mona Lisa.  It all seemed very surreal to Peter, but he was sure Diana was correct, this had Neal Caffrey written all over it.  A clandestine meeting in an art gallery, who else could it be?

“Suit!”

Peter near jumped out of his skin.

“Mozzie.” Peter greeted once his heart calmed.

Mozzie had managed to use his skills and height to supreme advantage by secluding himself in the corner of the lavish gallery, next to the entrance way’s double oak doors and behind a glass display case housing some no doubt priceless renaissance trinket.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Peter pulled him from behind his hiding place, putting himself between Mozzie and the door.

“Could ask you the same thing?”

“You saw the storage locker.”

“I did.” Mozzie kept his face passive.  “So did you I take it?”

Peter realized he was gripping Mozzie like a perp, the looks from other patrons tipping him off and so quickly let go, forcing a look of casual indifference to his still tense body.

“You didn’t think to maybe, check with me before coming out?  It could have been dangerous!”

“Did you?”  Mozzie shifted closer, smiling at a couple wandering by while both he and Peter pretended interest in the nearest painting.

They smiled politely until the couple past.

“Fine.  It doesn't matter.” Peter decided, if Neal had left them both clues then it was because he wanted them both here.  He could explain himself plenty once they found him.  “So, what’s with the Oedipus deal?  I know you like your word play but-”

Mozzie looked blankly at him.  “Wait, you think I asked to meet here? When I saw you I thought you did-”

“Since when do I do word play?”  Peter spat in annoyance, but realization dawned and his anger quickly morphed into paranoia.

“I got a note telling me to meet here, no time.  Very unoriginal if you ask me.”

“I didn’t-” Peter spotted Diana a little further up and signaled her to hang back.   Whatever was going on, if this wasn’t Neal then he wanted to ensure they kept some secrets.

“Suit?” Mozzie followed his gaze.

“Just follow my lead.  Somethings not right.”

…

 

 “There it is.” Mozzie pointed at the painting they’d both, in different ways, been directed to.

Peter grabbed Mozzie and held him back, signaling without words his decision to exercise caution.  Mozzie was normally much more careful, but the idea that Neal was alive had messed with his head a little, made him giddy and prone to mistakes.

“Suit I approve of the distrust, but I think the only way we’ll know if this is Neal-”

Peter cut him off with a shove. He didn't like it, but with no discernible threat nearby he actually agreed.  Diana was back-up, they had to take the chance.

They approached the Ingres oil, standing at nearly a metre high, the gaudy golden frame against the rusted orange background wasn't to Peter's taste.  He’s pretty sure it was to Neal’s though.  He remembers taking Neal to the MET as a birthday treat one year and him talking at length about the absurdity of people who put priceless works of art in their guest bathrooms because they didn't care to consider the enjoyment of art and just wanted to own it.

_“Where its viewed is just as important as the art itself Peter.” Neal enthused, heading off at a barely restrained run to the next gallery having devoured everything in this section._

_Peter let him go, trailing behind like an indulgent parent, watching carefully for any potential danger, or in Caffrey’s case, an opportunity._

_“I best take that Monet out the laundry room then.” He quipped once he caught up._

_Neal didn't rise to the bait, too busy taking in as much as he can as quick as he can.  Well aware thanks to Peter’s repeated warnings that they only had the day and would not be coming back anytime soon to catch any bits he missed, being as the museum was a measly 1.5 miles outside his radius._

_“If you had a Monet in your laundry room I would have removed it by now, for your own good.” Neal flashed him a quick serious smile, before redirecting his attention to more worthy attributes’._

_“Removed it? That what your calling your thievery now.”  Peter chuckles, enjoying the flustered scowl on Neal’s face as he tries to both keep up with the banter and contain his excitement at just being allowed in the museum in the first place._

_“I stick to my original statement.”_

_“Heard that before.” Peter grumbled, lips curving, eyes twinkling with amusement as Neal opens his mouth no doubt to retort but instead gets distracted by a symbolism display._

_“You okay?” Peter queried when he noticed Neal was no longer smiling, and the quiet awe he’d become accustomed to had turned tense._

_Peter looked at the painting which had by all accounts stolen the happy mood.  It looked innocent enough, a painting no different from the collection it was in.  He searched for the plaque which had all the pertinent information.  He was White Collar, not art crimes.  He knew enough to get by but left memorizing artists and pieces to the experts._

_“Kate liked the riddle of the Sphinx.” Was all Neal offered before moving on, his mood returning to jubilant when they wandered into the next hall and discovered the Monet exhibit._

“Kate.” Peter breathes the name, staring dead ahead, the memory of their little jaunt now bitter sweet.

“ _What_?” Mozzie uttered accusingly, looking around for the dead girl as if she'd rematerialized fresh from the grave.

“The sphinx.  Neal said Kate liked the story.  It wasn't this painting but the same subject.”

“A Gustave Moreau probably. Kate just liked that she shared the name.”  He snapped bitterly.

“I take it you never liked Kate.”

“Neal liked her.  Like you, she was a distraction who ruined my plans.”

“Like me?” Peter had many questions for that statement, but what he just couldn't brush over is Mozzie comparing him with Kate in Neal’s mind.

“We’ve had this conversation Suit, let's focus on why someone saw fit to bring us both here shall we?”

Peter nodded.  He didn't like it but occasionally the little guys cautious paranoia was actually useful.  Something wasn't sitting right. Why would Neal direct them to a meeting using a reference from his time with Kate?  They’d never discussed Kate after the U-boat fiasco.  Neal never brought her up and frankly Peter was happy to follow some old advice and let sleeping dogs lie. 

“Suit”

“I said okay Mozzie.”

“No! Look-”

Peter followed the direction Mozzie was looking.  Caught the back of a brunette man, about six feet tall, walking away behind a group of Chinese tourists. Peter didn't hesitate, he ran to catch up, ploughing through the group without care.  Entering the adjoining gallery, Mozzie on his heels, Peter drew to a stop, scanning the hall looking for any sign that the young man had come this way.

“Where’d he go?”

Peter lifted his cell out his pocket. “Diana?”

 _“I lost him, boss_.”

Mozzie heard the exclamation down the line, couldn't keep the disappointment off his face.

....

 

Peter didn't know where Mozzie was staying but after weighing up the pros and cons decided he was better off not knowing and invited him back to their hotel instead.

“Nice to see where my tax dollars are spent.” Mozzie zeroed in on the mini bar with all the skill of a bloodhound.

“This trip isn’t on the bureau.  And you don't pay taxes.” Peter snatched the mini gin out of Mozzies’ hand before he could break the seal and slammed the fridge shut, planting himself in front.

“Whatever you say Suit, but if we’re going to do this I'm going to need wine.  Can’t do my best work without good provisions.”

“ _We’re_ not doing anything.  I'm going to make some calls and find Neal the same way I always have.”

“You’re not going to find him through legal channels.”

“He may be right about that boss.” Diana interrupted by walking in via the adjoining room door without knocking.

“What’s this?” Peter took the folded paper she held out, ignoring her suggestion and Mozzie’s smug look.

“Employment record for the Louvre.  All independent contractors and employees hired in the last year.  One name definitely stood out.” 

She was smirking and as soon Peter scanned the list, eyes drawn to the highlighted line midway down he realized why.  It actually brought a tear to his eye.  Peter had named his son after Neal and Neal – if it was him and not some outrageous coincidence – had named himself after Peter. 

The name Peter Stone Jr, consultant, appeared underneath the heading for October.  The time period fit perfectly with the newspaper he’d found in the locker.

Peter coughed, fought hard to clear his throat, but his words remained thick with emotion as he spoke. “We’ll need to get hold of any i.d. Peter Jr may have used, since I assume the Louvre don't do street hires.” 

“Neal wouldn't just settle down and get a _job._ ” Mozzie scoffed. “He must be working an angle”

Diana was still smirking. “Wanna bet?” She produced a second piece of paper, holding it out for them to see.  “I called in a favor, had a friend email this over.  It's Caffrey alright.”

Peter stared at the black and white photocopy of Peter Jr’s work i.d.  He was thinner and his hair longer, much like when he’d first picked him up from prison, but it was undoubtedly Neal.

“He’s alive.”

….

 

 “ _Neal’s alive._ ”  Peter said to El on the phone that night.

Her heart fluttered.  She was glad she was already lying down otherwise that would have sent her to the floor.

“Is he alright?” Elizabeth manages to push the words past suddenly dry lips.

“ _I don't know_.” Peter sighs, she can tell he’s hiding something. “ _All we’ve got is the forged I.D he used to get a job as security consultant at the Louvre._ ”

“Neal has a job.” She laughed, loud and unencumbered. 

“ _What it looks like_.”

Elizabeth can hear the smile of pride in Peter’s voice and it brings a smile to her too, because Neal Caffrey wasn't dead and that was the sweetest news she could hear, but if Neal really had managed to live an innocent life off anklet then all the traumas of the passed four years had certainly been worth it. 

“Well I guess the forging I.D you can understand.  He couldn't very well use the name Neal Caffrey.” She chuckles to herself at how Neal had somehow normalized things she’d never dreamed of before he came into their life’s.  “So, what do we call him now?”

There's a pause, then Peter makes a soft sound, clearing his throat.  _“Well I think we should keep calling him Neal.”_ That sound again.  _“He's going by the name Peter Stone Jr.  Peter Stone was my alias for the Manhattan Prep case.  Peter Jr was my fictional wayward son.”_

Elizabeth feels a tear slip, marking a trail down her cheek, pooling on the pillow beneath her head. “Oh honey”

“ _I know hon, I know.._.” The weariness of her husband's voice told her he knew exactly what she was feeling. 

Elizabeth wanted nothing more than to reach down through the phone and hug him tight.  A cry, soft at first but quickly turning frantic brought an end to their conversation. 

“Neal’s crying, I’ve got to go.  I love you.”

“Love you too, hun.”

Dragging herself out of bed she lifted Neal from his crib, changed his wet diaper and resettled him with a bottle in their room.  Both fell asleep together.  Elizabeth hugging one Neal while her mind dreamt of her husband finding the other.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments and Kudos are always good inspiration. I haven't abandoned any of my other stories, but I'm more prolific when working on multiple projects. Normally I don't duel post but I've decided to shake things up, wish me luck lol


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